A Dive in the Dark
by Elisumner
Summary: BriscoeRodgers. This is what happens when a PG writer and an NC17 author tag team a fic. Please review!


Hi there! This is a "duet" of sorts. My friend, lucylucy11 and I are polar writing opposites - she is strictly PG and I am strictly PWP. So we decided to team up and write a fic with her syrupy sweetness and my bodice ripping nasty. My parts are in bold, her dainty little sentiments are in dainty little print. Enjoy!!!

**He held her closely, listening to her breathe as she rocked back and forth on him. Her range of motion was limited due to the solid grip his arms had around her ribs. Through the haze that had taken over her usually sharp brain, she almost laughed out loud, "He still thinks I might leave him here." **

**He hadn't trusted her. **

**As many times as he had asked her out, when she finally agreed to a quick dinner between, erm, patients, he assumed that she was playing him; it would have made a lovely practical joke. But his doubt had almost vanished completely by the time she had shoved him into the corner of the couch in her living room, trying to get his tie loose, and almost choking him in the process. **

She had already cut off his oxygen supply once, earlier that evening. He remembered watching her cross the restaurant, walking towards him. At the time, he had tried to figure out how she managed to look so magnificently obscene in a dress that wasn't short, low-cut, or tight (that was right before he realized he was drooling) but now he was only focused on getting it off of her.

She had asked him to meet her at the restaurant, claiming that the clothes in her locker weren't suitable for a dinner date. 'Yep,' he had thought 'she is so not gonna be there.' But he liked the spot she had chosen for dinner, so at the very least he would get a good meal out of it, whether she showed up or not. But yeah, she had shown up. Shown up every other woman in the joint, every woman that had ever been on TV, or in the movies, shown up every super-model, porn-star, painting, and sculpture he had ever seen. Ever. 'Nope, no oxygen for me.' It had probably all been used up by the collective gasp from every man in the room when she walked in. She'd had to say his name a few times before he snapped out of it.

"Detective?" his mouth was still hanging open. "Lennie?" no response, the poor man was speechless. "Yo, Briscoe!!!" the gravely sound of her elevated dixie-land voice brought him back down to earth.

"You okay?" she asked with a playful smile that said 'Yeah, actually, I do know that I just knocked you out."

**"Nice dress." It wasn't much, but it was all he could manage to get out at the moment. Later, she would remember the way every nerve ending in her body shook as he unintentionally looked her up down. All she knew in that instant was that she could absolutely eat him alive, right there, in the middle of the restaurant, in front of God and everybody.**

**"Thank you; sorry it took me so long to get here."** 'Trying on thirty different outfits takes a while.' she added silently.

"No problem." 'It was worth the wait' he thought

After they ordered they made small talk until the food arrived, discussing recent cases, mutual co-workers and friends; neither one of them comfortable enough to go much further than professional conversation. However, by the time they were half way through the salad, they had relaxed a little bit - being here, together, didn't seem quite as absurd as it had earlier.

After he had told her his favorite stories about the jackass he was as a drunk, and she had given him the run-down on her "marriage that never should've been" they got around to talking about kids. **Mostly his, 'cause she didn't have any. **She'd never forget the pang that shot through her when his eyes clouded over while he was telling her about his daughter Cathy. Rodger's remembered hearing about it when it happened. She had been murdered, it had been somehow related to a drug lord, but she couldn't remember the details.

"I'd thought that nothin' could shock me anymore" he said "but it just didn't seem real."

She didn't know what to say. She knew there was nothing she could do to make it hurt less for him, and he seemed eager to change the subject.

"So Doc, what about you? I've seen you slice and dice some pretty whacked up stiffs. Does it ever get to you?" he asked, his curiosity apparently getting the better of him.

She had to laugh. He had to be wondering why the hell she had become a coroner on her own free will. "Um, not much does, I've just about seen it all. More than anything though, it's the kids. You know, the innocent bystanders…" Her voice trailed off. Neither of them seemed to be enjoying the morose trail the conversation had turned down, so she tried to think of something funny to say.

**"It's strange though, it's the stupid little things that get to you. I was at an anniversary party a few weeks ago, and I was talking to this girl I knew from college. She said that gore didn't usually bother her, but that she'd had to watch an autopsy for one of her classes in nursing school. She said that she did fine all the way through it until the pathologist snapped the ribs." Briscoe cringed. "Sorry," she said. She continued, "Anyway, I was telling her that now we just remove the entire ribcage and I reached down and traced my fingers down the back side of my ribs to show her where we cut, and it ran all over me." She laughed at the memory and he raised an eyebrow, wordlessly telling her to explain. "I don't know, for some reason it just freaked me out. That's probably the least nauseating part of an exam, but I got chill bumps, and the hair on the back of my neck stood up, and I didn't stop shaking for about half an hour." she grinned and sipped her water, watching him lean back in his chair and laugh at her. "I dunno, I still haven't figured it out." She added.** He watched her draw her shoulders in and shudder, intentionally over-dramatizing the movements. He didn't fail to notice the way her cleavage re-arranged itself when she moved. He managed to look away before she noticed.

**He thought.**

'Oh my God, he is so staring at my chest.' She felt her stomach tighten the way it did every time he walked into the morgue. She hoped he hadn't noticed the look in her eyes during that spilt second when they revealed everything she was thinking and feeling.

'Jeez help.' he thought. She had caught him looking at her, and for a split second he had been able to read her mind by the look on her face. 'I wonder if this bitch knows that she could, like, have everything I own right now?'

'I wonder if this bastard knows I'd give in with, like, half a snap of his fingers right now?'

It surprised him that he could look her in the eye considering the images flying through his mind (as in: below him, on top of him; on a bed, on a staircase; slammed against his front door, slammed against a shower wall;

He was a goner.

**She was at a crossroads. She could either tell him to get his coat, drag him back to her apartment and feast on him until somebody sent a search party. Or, she could rapidly change the subject and hope to high hell that he couldn't feel the heat radiating from between her legs under the table. **'This is crazy! I'm not this desperate! I don't need him this badly.' She had always laughed at women in porn flicks that got turned on so fast for no apparent reason.

**She took it back. **

It felt like an eternity since either of them had said anything. He decided to give her the reigns. Let her take control.

"Lennie, I..." Her voice trailed off and he knew, that she knew, that he knew how uncertain she was.

"Listen, Doll, I'd ask you to dance but I figure you like having the bones in your feet non-crushed." he tried to give her a platonic smile, and she appreciated the effort, but it didn't do much for the ache in the pit of her stomach.

Not realizing what a horrible, horrible idea it was she said that she'd "Take her chances." and, knowing that he enjoyed playing the roll of the gentleman she waited for him to come to her side of the table and get her. He offered his hand to her, to help her up, and when she took it, she realized the awful mistake she had made.

'Oh man,' it dawned on him 'pressed up against her is not where I need to be right now. Wanna be? Yeah. Need to be? No.'

They both panicked.

And froze.

She recovered first and tugged him onto the dance floor. He was almost afraid to touch her. She guessed as much so she snaked her left arm up under his right one and let her hand rest on his shoulder. She didn't have to prompt him to take her right hand and start moving them to the rhythm of the music. Every muscle in her body was tensed, he could feel it. He made an impulsive decision. He let his right arm, that had until now been at a very relaxed, proper place in the center of her back, drift down just a t-a-d lower, and pull her in just a l-i-t-t-l-e tighter. He hoped it worked.

**Yeah. It worked.**

She melted like a mint julep on a hot Georgia porch in the middle of an August heat wave.

'Yeah, Baby!' he was proud of his little victory.

He almost had to hold her up, not that he had a problem with that.

'She's got a really little waist. The scrubs don't do her justice.'

All she could do was try to keep breathing enough to keep her alive. 'I'll get him for that one.' she thought, ticked off that he could control her that way.

The mood had been broken a bit, giving them a chance to clear their heads.

Confidence restored, he lowered his jaw to take a deep sniff of her hair. All that aromatherapy crap was a mystery to him, but whatever she washed it with, it smelled like, uh,

"What's that sturdy white flower that smells so strong and..." he asked out loud

"Gardenia"

"Yeah. Yeah, that's it."

"Yeah."

"Nice."

"Thanks"

Things were getting too boring, too stable, she thought. It could either taper off, or flame back up. She figured out that he had left it up to her.

'Here goes nothing' She took her hand from his shoulder, and the other out of his grip, and brought them up loosely around his neck. He took the cue (surprised?) and let his arms wrap all the way around her; one at the base of her spine, the other towards the top.

It wasn't awkward. Just...just nice. And warm.** Hot. It was hot. He had touched more of her in the last ten seconds than he had in the last ten years. **

'**This is just fucking ridiculous,' he thought. **

"**This is just fucking ridiculous," she said, "Let's get out of here."**

**It wasn't until she added a hesitant 'Okay?" that he realized he was frozen there like a moron. **

"**Uh, Beth, if you…"**

She motionlessly shuddered at his use of the nickname.No one actually _called _her Beth, but that was irrelevant. The intimacy of the moment was enough to coil her center into knots that only one thing in this world would untie. She pushed herself into his body, arched up and said directly into his ear, lips dancing on the sensitive skin,

"**Okay, Lennie. Really, that was just a rhetorical question. If you don't get me out of here **_**now**_**, I'm going to fuck you on your feet in front of all these nice, **_**eating,**_** people. "**

Fortunately, she'd taken his hands and taken him through the motions of paying the bill and calling a cab, because otherwise he would just as likely still be rooted in the middle of the dance floor.

**But here he was, watching her writhe in his lap, and milk his fingers with deep, frantic contractions she had seemingly no control over. Shirt still hanging on his shoulders, his chest was exposed to the cold air and the rough scrape of the black lace of her **demi**-bra. God bless a woman with vintage clothes, for he'd had no difficulty finding and undoing the metal zipper of her blue Halston dress. A work of art, now crumpled on the hardwoods with their coats and his jacket. Why he'd lost his shoes and hers remained on her feet was no mystery—Docksides have never induced a fantasy, but the shiny black leather heels he could see from the corner of his eye were the stuff dreams were made of. Her thong was still looped around her right foot, somehow undamaged in the tumult. It had survived to be ripped from her body with his teeth another day. The thought made him hiss.**

**Purpose renewed, he brushed her damp hair out of her face with his free hand as he started pushing harder with the other. She lost her rhythm for a moment and moved closer to kiss him. The wet electricity was astounding, and ran deep for both of them. She felt his erection pulse against her inner thigh through his clothes and reached for the neglected participant. Surprise had made him lurch, and bury his hand far as it would go without breaking it's bones. She cried out, in pain he imagined, but maintained the new depth with enthralling enthusiasm. **

"**Lennie," she said, "Please. God, please, Lennie," **

"**You bet, baby."**

**He dropped his other hand from her hair and it traveled across her stomach, pausing, for the sake of torture, before joining the efforts of the other. Indecipherable sounds poured from her throat, and tensed every muscle in his body. He tried to focus on the task at hand, but her breasts were drilling into his chest and the beautiful bra **_**had**_** to go. **_**Right now**_**. He fumbled with it, but in the heat of the moment, unable to undo the clasps, he pulled a knife off of his belt and sliced through the black lace on the front of her chest. She gasped as the icy steel made contact with her skin, just barely knicking her as her bra fell away. The pain that shot from her chest, combined with the indescribable feeling of three of his fingers buried down deep and pressing up against her created the most intense feeling she had ever felt. **

**He started to slam on the brakes when he realized he had cut her, and opened his mouth to apologize. But before he could speak, he felt her muscles start to tighten around his fingers. 'That worked out well' he thought to himself. He leaned down to kiss the wound and lick away the trickle of blood that had pooled there. She gasped and bit her cheek; he could sense her efforts to be quiet, and figured she was embarrassed, but he didn't want her to hold anything back. **

**"Let it go baby, let me hear you." **

That did it.

The quiet sound of his voice sent more electricity through her than sandpaper on her clit would have. She let out a primitive groan - a loud one he was proud to notice - while she slipped over the edge.

Make that _plunged_ over the edge.

**She struggled for every breath as he squeezed his eyes shut and willed himself to focus and calm down. Her weight seemed to increase as her breathing slowed into soft, confused, gasping sobs. **

"**Lennie. I needed…God. Perfect…"**

"**You're not about to thank me are you?" he asked, "Cause that would be..."**

**She silently lifted her head from its resting place on his chin, covered his mouth with her hand then further silenced him with a laughing kiss. But the moment instantly regained its white heat as an aftershock suddenly caught her body and her shaking thighs clamped down on his again. He groaned, she gasped and they both shut their eyes for the thousandth time. He opened his to see her face as he felt the muscles in her stomach quiver against his increasingly painful erection. The bright flush across her hard features and the damp tear trails sliding down and around the curve of her breasts only accented the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. He could have died happy at that moment, which was a good thing since he was probably about to. **

**She lifted hazy eyes to meet his, and willed the lethargy away. **

"**I hope your comfortable like as you are, 'cause I can't walk."**

"**Shall I carry you?" he asked, with a gallant toss of his head.**

"**Ha. Shut up." She braced her hands on his collar bone and pushed herself up onto her knees. He grimaced as she made quick work of his belt, buttons and zipper, holding his breath as she freed him, pushing his pants and boxers out of the way **_**just**_** enough. **

"**You ready?" she asked. **'Am I drooling?' she wondered.

He tilted his head back onto the sofa, seemingly in thought, until she began drumming her fingernails on him, making him sit up and grab her hips as she laughed.

"I'm never gonna be ready for this," he said, biting into her neck. "Are you?"

Her only response was to grab him at his base and impale herself. She rested fully in his lap, waiting impatiently for her long dormant insides to adjust to his size.

"**Apparently not," she said, quaking already. **

He put up a noble fight against the instinct to buck, but finally lost as she gripped him in a silent bid to get started.

He pushed up and she pushed down until she honest to God thought her head was going to explode.

He reached for the knees bent on each side of his body and dug his fingers into the bend, using them for leverage to dig farther up into her pulsing curves.

He opened his eyes when she choked out his name, and when her lashes lifted and she looked into face, even though neither were foolish enough to speak of love, it was there.** Their mouths joined again, emulating the near- violent joining below. They parted for air and she stilled momentarily as her second climax burned through her veins, resting her forehead to his, before recovering and regaining pace.**

**Lennie was watching stars dance across a blurred image of her face and he was certain that his brain was being damaged. Unburdened by coherent thought, he sucked gently at her neck feeling her ragged breaths vibrate through her throat as she changed her internal rhythms to further boil his blood. **It so totally worked**. She released his shoulders and reached behind herself, bracing her hands on his knees, leaning back as far as she could without hurting herself, increasing her grip. "Zz..Zhbeth…God…" She indulged herself in an orgasmic, sated laugh as his head fell back against the sofa and he dug his fingers into her sensitive thighs, gritting his teeth with the force of his completion. **

She could've cried. She could have absolutely cried if she'd wanted to. **Fortunately for her reputation, she didn't. He opened his sated eyes as she watched him from her reclined position in his lap. "Should you be able to bend like that?" He asked. "Statistically not," she replied, pushing off of his knees and draping her long body over his heaving chest, pressing smiling kisses across his neck and face. He ran his hands and forearms across her cooling sweaty back, applying a gentle pressure to each perfectly formed muscle. "Mmmm," she said, arching into his touch, "let's go to bed."**

"**Well now, that's a little presumptuous isn't it, Doctor?" She took his face in her cool hands and kissed him so thoroughly, so softly, with such tenderness, all thought of banter and byplay was instantly forgotten. **

**And they went to bed. **

The End


End file.
